To Chase the Storm: The Frontier Series 4 (42 page)

‘There were lots of wonderful things that happened,’ Alex replied quietly. ‘And Mr . . .’ He paused. It was hard adjusting to the name of the man who had taught him so much about life. ‘Our grandfather . . .’

Alex choked on the words and Fenella did not press him. Perhaps one day he would speak more about the man who, from the moment she had laid eyes on him, she had sensed was very important in their lives. Not that her feelings made any sense until she learned of the Irishman’s true identity. For Michael Duffy reminded her of no-one more than her own father, and she missed him so much.

When they reached the coach George was waiting for them with a bored expression on his face. He was still a good half-head taller than Alex but his larger size was no protection anymore against Alexander’s anger and fists.

‘The old . . .’ George was about to comment on his great-grandmother’s passing when he noticed the cold fire in Alexander’s eyes, anticipating a derogatory remark. George was wise enough not to utter another word and they climbed into the open coach drawn by four grey horses.

As the coach trundled back to the mansion by the harbour, Fenella found her thoughts drifting again to the young man she had known all too briefly prior to his leaving to fight in South Africa.

For George Macintosh, his thoughts were on his
inheritance. Now that Lady Enid was gone, his father would no doubt inherit the huge fortune left in the estate. And as the eldest he was next in line. What he could do with so much money! He could indulge himself in excesses he had only dreamed of.

Alex caught the look on George’s face as he sat facing his brother in the coach but controlled the urge to wipe away the smirk and whatever evil lurked behind the cold grey eyes. Alexander was now old enough to understand that some people – like his brother – are just born bad.

The cattle drive was over and Matthew stood in the dusty street of the New South Wales town of Moree waiting patiently for Texas Slim to settle with the stock and station agents. The discovery of artesian water in the district had prompted Kate to invest in land, and her venture had paid off. No matter how bad a drought hit Queensland, she could have her stock driven to her property in northern New South Wales to be watered and, if need be, fed on fodder.

‘Well, young Matt,’ Texas Slim said as he strode across the street with his saddle slung over his shoulder. ‘What next?’

‘How is it that you decided to come over here?’ Matthew asked unexpectedly as they stood in the shimmering heat of the tiny frontier town. Randolph Gates, alias Texas Slim, was a man he had come to admire. The tall, easygoing American embodied all the qualities of the friends he had left behind in South Africa – and at the same time was
a bit exotic, maybe even like his own father had once been.

Randolph looked at Matthew with a quizzical expression on his smoothly shaved and tanned face. ‘Kind of funny question to ask after all this time we have been on the trail together, pardner.’

‘I was just wondering,’ Matthew replied. ‘You see, my father was a Yank. My mother told me he came out to the goldfields at Ballarat in the ’50s and got himself into the big fight against the British at the Eureka Stockade. I was just wondering how come you decided to come over here.’

The smile on the American’s face slowly turned to a frown. ‘I was a bit restless after being with the Rough Riders in Cuba. Got back home and saw the advertisement in a farming almanac for a man to work in the Australian Colony of Queensland. It sounded interesting and satisfied my need to see a bit more of the world. So here I am. Anything else?’

Matthew shook his head and fell into step as they made their way to the hotel for a cold beer. Although Matthew was legally under the age to drink, all the men who knew him vouched for him. Somewhere in his life Matthew had lost his youth and catapulted himself into manhood.

Drinking in company with the stockmen and being prepared to stand up in a fight against any man came naturally to Matthew, much to the despair of his mother. To Kate he would always be the little boy who she had nursed in sickness and cuddled. But she also saw in her son the father he had never known. He had a spirit of fierce independence and
adventure. All she could do now was to stand quietly in the shadows of his life and be there for him. His life was that of the traveller in the lonely places of the great plains; he might see the life-giving rains fall as a storm in the distance, and hurry his journey to catch the refreshing, momentary coolness of the water, only to see it move away. To chase the storm was often a waste of time, as it would always remain tantalisingly ahead of the traveller. Matthew was the desert storm of her life – just as his father had been.

‘So what are your plans?’ Texas repeated.

‘Thought I might stick with you for a while,’ Matthew answered as they entered the coolness of the hotel’s main bar to be met by the rest of the stockmen who had made the drive to Moree.

‘Well, pardner,’ Texas drawled, ‘I have some leave due according to the boss, your ma, and I intend on seeing the bright lights of Sydney before returning to Balaclava.’

‘Thought the same thing myself,’ Matthew grinned.

‘You are going to be in a heap of trouble with Miss Kate,’ Texas frowned. ‘She gave me the impression that you were to head back to Townsville as soon as the drive was over.’

‘I will,’ Matthew said. ‘As soon as I take my leave in Sydney.’

Texas shook his head and pushed his way towards the bar. ‘Just make sure that you tell Miss Kate that I had nothing to do with you going to Sydney – or I will be looking for another job.’

Matthew thrust out his hand. ‘Promise,’ he said as
he gripped the American’s hand. ‘Going to Sydney was all my own idea. So, when do we leave?’

Texas groaned as a glass of foaming brown beer was placed before each man. As Matthew raised his glass he had a fleeting memory of a time that now seemed so long ago when he had gone south from Townsville with Saul Rosenblum to enlist. He raised his beer and muttered, ‘To you, Saul, old mate, wherever you are.’

Matthew had never believed that Saul had been killed at Elands River. Maybe captured, and if so he would eventually one day return to Queensland. But not killed.

When Matthew awoke next day, still dressed, he had trouble putting together the time between his first beer and the sun rising over him as he lay on his bed on the hotel verandah. From the soreness of his knuckles and the blood on his face, he strongly suspected that he had been involved in a fight. He groaned as the shadow of Texas fell over him.

‘Time to go, pardner,’ Texas said with a broad grin. ‘Daylight’s awasting and Sydney’s acalling.’

FORTY-FOUR

N
o matter how much Patrick attempted to persuade himself that Catherine no longer existed in his life, the memories of happier times haunted him. He lay on his bed in the small hotel room and stared at the ceiling. There he could see a young and happy woman who had followed him halfway across the world to express her love, and from that love had come three children. The remembrance of a passionate time when there seemed no possibility of it ever ending caused Patrick to squeeze his eyes shut, as if the act could make the painful memories go away.

He had attempted to justify to himself that the only reason he had travelled to Ireland was his mission to make contact with Martin, but he knew that was a lie. He had come to see his estranged wife and try to resolve their seemingly impossible situation. Only then would he be able to get on with his life.

Patrick had made his decision and it was time to do something about it. The small revolver lay on the bed next to Patrick’s shaving kit. He picked it up and carefully loaded the .32 calibre bullets in the chambers. Not a powerful weapon, he reflected, but still a gun that could kill at close range.

He pocketed the revolver and left his room to walk through the bar of O’Riley’s, aware that the patrons had fallen into silence at his presence. But he bid them a good day despite their sullen hostility.

Patrick stepped onto the cold and bleak narrow street. Hunched against the drizzling rain, he set off with a soldier’s walk towards the edge of town but became immediately aware of a man who emerged from the shadows to dog his footsteps. Patrick felt the reassuring butt of the pistol in his pocket.

The night was falling when he reached the old Fitzgerald mansion and Patrick stood uncertainly outside the house. He could see a light shining through a window upstairs and then stepped forward to knock. It was some minutes before the door opened to reveal Catherine’s gaunt face. She stood with a stricken expression staring at her husband.

‘It is good to see you, Catherine,’ Patrick said gently.

‘You should come in,’ his estranged wife said, ‘or you will freeze to death.’

Patrick glanced over his shoulder as he stepped inside. He could not see the man who had followed him but knew that he was most probably waiting and watching from the gathering cloak of night.

Inside, Patrick felt awkward. Catherine had
changed – but so had he. It had been over two years since he had last seen her and time had taken its toll on her beautiful vitality.

‘Why did you come?’ Catherine asked as they stood facing each other in the dark foyer.

Despite the dim light he could clearly see that she was on the verge of breaking down. ‘You are my wife and I love you,’ Patrick simply replied. ‘I have come to take you home with me.’

Catherine spun away and took a couple of steps into the house. ‘It is not as easy as that,’ she said, anguished. ‘Too much has happened for us ever to be together again.’

‘I know about the child,’ Patrick said quietly. ‘That is all past and I know that our children need you with them – as do I.’

‘But do you, Patrick? Do you really need me by your side again?’

Patrick felt the weariness. He had been betrayed but somehow he could not stop loving the woman who had fled their marriage with another man. Despite all that he had experienced in his life – war and the loss of loved ones – his love for Catherine was the one constant that would not leave him.

‘I need you,’ he replied. ‘I have never stopped loving you. I don’t know why that is, but I do know that I still love you regardless of all that has happened.’

Patrick’s words stabbed Catherine as sharply as any dagger. The guilt of her passion for Brett Norris was still very much a part of her life.

‘You cannot say that when you don’t really know me,’ she answered in a strangled voice. ‘You have
never really known me. To you, I was just something in your life – like a pretty ornament – not truly the person to share your life.’

Patrick went to protest but Catherine already knew what he would say. She held up her hand but could not bring herself to look into his eyes. To do so would have weakened her resolve. From the moment she had heard the stories from her housekeeper of his arrival in the village she knew it was inevitable that he would call on her.

‘It would be better that you leave the house and return to Sydney,’ she continued. ‘We are different people, Patrick, you and I.’

‘The children?’ he protested.

‘The children are better off without a mother as evil as I.’

‘You are not evil,’ Patrick said, advancing towards his wife. ‘How could you say that?’

Catherine turned to look into his emerald eyes. ‘I am either evil – or I am going mad,’ she said sadly. ‘Either way, you and the children are better off without me.’

‘I believe neither,’ Patrick said seizing Catherine by the shoulders. ‘You are my beautiful wife and mother of my children. I love you, Catherine, and want you . . . no, need you back in my life, to make me a complete man again. Please don’t shut me out. We have shared too much together.’

Catherine stared up into her husband’s eyes and saw the depth of love in his soul. She felt a terrible wave of pity for him and broke down in tears. Patrick drew her to him and wrapped his arms about
her head and shoulders as she sobbed against his chest. He gently stroked her thick mane of red hair, now prematurely streaked with grey, and Catherine felt his love envelop her. It was both gentle and strong.

‘Oh, Patrick,’ she said in a muffled voice as she clung to him, ‘I wish I could give you what you want but I cannot. I need time to think.’

Patrick held his wife at arm’s length and kissed her on the forehead. ‘I think I understand,’ he said. ‘I will be leaving the village in four days. I will come back to fetch you away from here and take you with me to Sydney.’

Catherine wiped at the tears with her hand and tried to smile for Patrick’s sake. ‘I promise you that I will think on what you have said.’

‘Then, I will be back,’ Patrick said. ‘And when I return we shall depart Ireland.’

Reluctantly Patrick left the house, recognising that his wife needed time to consider. But walking away from the house was the hardest thing he had ever done in his life. Every instinct told him to stay with her and prove his feelings. He was hardly aware of the man following him.

From an upstairs window Catherine strained to see Patrick as he vanished into the night. Her heart ached to see him disappear from her life. She fell to her knees and sobbed for the loss of her soul. There was so much that she wanted to tell the man who seemed to love her without reservation. If only life
could be so simple, she thought in her despair. And that she could turn back time. But Brett Norris was expected within days and that was an issue she had not resolved.

Catherine lay huddled in a corner of the hall and listened to the rain beating a mournful tune on the window pane. For a brief moment she thought about Patrick trudging back to the village, cold and wet, and the thought touched her in a way that only exacerbated her despair. What if this loving and gentle man should catch a cold and sicken to the point of death? What else would her children have in their lives?

Sean O’Donohue was angry when the man he had been following disappeared on entering the outskirts of the town. ‘Bastard!’ he swore, and continued into the narrow, deserted streets of the village. At least he knew where Major Duffy was staying. No doubt he was heading back to the warmth of his hotel room.